


charm

by fiction fetishist (fictionfetishist)



Series: utapri fic challenge [4]
Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionfetishist/pseuds/fiction%20fetishist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re obviously having a difficult time imagining me as your lover, despite my perfect acting, so perhaps you simply need some more convincing.”</p>
<p>In which Tokiya asks Masato out on a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	charm

**Author's Note:**

> alternate take on episode 4, call it an au or whatever you want. i just really needed this out of my system because, yessss, them tokiya/masato feels i’ve had ever since the first episode is now not as cracky as i thought it was.

“Let’s go on a date,” Tokiya says, when practice is over and everyone’s gone back to their respective rooms.

“I beg your pardon,” Masato says, frowning slightly as his brush leaves a disgraceful stroke on the paper, blotted and angled. He would have to redo that, now.

“A date,” Tokiya repeats. “You’re obviously having a difficult time imagining me as your lover, despite my perfect acting, so perhaps you simply need some more convincing.”

Masato stiffens at Tokiya’s casual use of the word ‘lover’, watches as Tokiya has no reservations about the entire ordeal, simply determination. Tokiya leans heavily against his doorframe, clearly not intending to take no for an answer. Masato finds himself relenting. “Very well then,” he says, finally, voice not shaky, no, not shaky at all.

Tokiya’s eyes soften at that, a hint of a smile on his lips, one that makes Masato have to look away, thankful Ren isn’t around to tease him for this. “I trust you’ll pick me up at seven,” Tokiya says, calm, professional, and walks out the door.

Masato crumples the sheet in his hands, and begins writing anew.

 

Unfortunately, Masato soon discovers, his preferred method of calligraphy combined with focus and determination won’t work on this either.

He sighs, feeling the dried ink beneath his fingertips, tracing the ‘date’ he had written so carefully. This is a lot more complicated than he originally imagined.

 

“What do you do, on a date?” Masato asks, eventually, giving in.

“What are you talking about,” Ren says, not even sparing him a glance from the magazine he’s been flipping through ever since he got back, sprawling disgracefully on their couch.

“It pains me to ask help from you, but I have to admit that you have more experience in this,” Masato replies, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “I would appreciate it if you could tell me a few things.”

Ren looks at him curiously at that, seemingly half-offended, half-smug at his statement. “You don’t even go on dates,” he says, and then, raising his eyebrow and smirking haughtily, “I bet you can’t even ask a girl out on one.”

Masato frowns, rubbing his hand on his temple to soothe the creases on his brow. He shouldn’t have asked; the negatives on conversing with Ren will always outweigh whatever insights he can get from it. “Never mind, I should have known better than to talk to you in the first place.”

“No, wait,” Ren says, putting the magazine down and straightening up in his seat. “Were you serious? Oh my god, are you actually going out on a date with someone?”

“Never _mind_ ,” Masato repeats, dipping his brush into the ink a bit more forcefully than he intended.

“Oh my god,” Ren says again, standing up and walking toward him. Masato’s frown deepens; he can feel a headache coming on. “Who is it? It’s not Haruka, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Masato replies, giving up on his calligraphy as Ren drapes an arm over his shoulder, invading his personal space and generally being an incorrigible person overall. “Anyway, it’s none of your concern, so please get away from me.”

When Ren doesn’t, Masato finds no wrong in writing ‘nuisance’ on Ren’s shirt and walking away, leaving Ren cursing to high heavens about how it’ll take forever to get these stains out, Masato you prick, this is really expensive you know, he won’t forget this, as Masato shuts the door behind him.

 

Otoya, contrary to Masato’s original expectations, is apparently just as unhelpful in this regard.

“Um,” Otoya says, squirming. “I’ve never really gone out on a date with a girl before so, um,” he trails off, looking somewhat lost and confused.

Masato feels almost sorry for asking in the first place. “It’s alright, Ittoki,” he says, trying to get the other to calm down; he doubts Tokiya would appreciate Otoya burning a hole through their carpet with all his pacing. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

“But, if I, uh, were on a date though,” Otoya says, face going red. “Well, I hear girls really like flowers and stuff, so maybe you could get her some? Unless she’s allergic of course,” he adds hastily. “And chocolate too, I guess, she’d probably like that,” Otoya trails off, eyes glazing over. Masato coughs lightly. “Oh, um, right,” Otoya says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You like reading, right, Masa?”

Masato raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Otoya walks over to one of the cabinets in the corner. “I just remembered: I have some books you can read. They can probably help you better than I can,” Otoya smiles, laughing slightly, turning to him with a small stack of paperbacks.

Masato can’t help but stare for a moment; he hadn’t figured Otoya to be a bookworm. “Thank you for this, Ittoki,” he says, taking the books in his hands. “I’ll be sure to return them right away.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Otoya says, giving him a thumbs-up sign. “Take as long as you want.”

“Thanks again, Ittoki,” Masato says, setting the books down on the coffee table. This could work, he thinks. Books had never really let him down before. “You wouldn’t mind if I started now, would you?”

“Sure,” Otoya beams. “I recommend the one on top, by the way.”

“Alright then,” Masato says, sitting down on the sofa and taking the first book into his hands. “Um, Ittoki,” he starts, unsure how to interpret the abundance of flowers and sparkles on the cover. “What kind of book is this exactly?”

“Oh,” Otoya replies, averting his gaze. “It’s a manga. A shoujo one, to be exact. Promise you won’t tell anyone though. It’s, well, kinda, you know,” he gestures vaguely.

“Right,” is all Masato can say to that, as he begins leafing through the misadventures of awkward, lovesick teenagers. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “I think I’ll be taking my leave now,” he says, standing up, “if you don’t mind.”

“Already?” Otoya whines, “But you just got here.”

“I’m afraid I have some business to attend to,” Masato replies, looking at his watch with much interest. “I’ll make sure to take good care of these books you lent me, though,” he adds, in an attempt to lessen the bitter taste making petty excuses leave in his mouth.

“Well, okay then,” Otoya concedes. “Feel free to come back for the later volumes any time, okay?”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Masato replies, with all honesty; he doubts he can forget something like this that easily, no matter how much he wants to.

 

In an attempt to put off actually keeping his word and reading Otoya’s manga, Masato tries going to Syo and Natsuki. In hindsight, no amount of ‘third time’s the charm’ could have made the situation work, but given the events that had transpired earlier, Masato figured it was as good an opportunity as any.

“Shinomiya, Kurusu,” Masato calls, knocking on their door. “Are you there?”

“Yes, yes, I’m here,” Syo says, somewhat out of breath, coming out of the room and closing the door behind him just as quickly. Masato raises his eyebrow at that, but doesn’t comment any further; he doubts he wants to know. “Oh, Masato, it’s you,” Syo says, hand still on the doorknob, as if registering Masato for the first time. “Did you need something? Something outside?”

Masato shakes his head, unsure where ‘outside’ came from. “Actually,” he replies, watching Syo curiously as muffled sounds of what seems to be ‘Syo-chan~, who is it’ make their way through the door. “I was wondering if I could ask you and Shinomiya a few things.”

Syo looks almost pained by the mention of Natsuki’s name. Well, more pained than usual. “Um, are you sure you need Natsuki? ‘Cause I can totally answer any question you throw at me. Probably.”

“Well,” Masato starts, narrowing his eyes as the door begins rattling suspiciously. “I _suppose_. I was hoping to get a second opinion, though.”

“Good, good,” Syo says absentmindedly, grabbing Masato’s arm with his free hand as the door begins to full on shake. “Now how about we continue our conversation outside? Like, right now?”

“Kurusu,” Masato warns, inching away slowly, “exactly _what_ is going on here?”

“I’ll explain la—”

“Syo-chan~” Natsuki interrupts, bursting through the door and knocking Syo to the floor face first. Masato winces in sympathy, though he can’t help but feel Syo deserved it, in some way. “Syo-chan?” Natsuki calls again, “Where did you—Oh, Masato! How nice of you to come by! Do you need something?”

Masato glances down at Syo, presumably unconscious, or at least wishing he were, and decides that, no, he doesn’t. “I just wanted to thank you for earlier, for your efforts in helping me prepare for my audition.”

“Sure! Any time!” Natsuki beams. “We were glad we could be of help!”

“My head,” Syo groans, trying to get up. “Keep it down, you idiot.”

“Oh, Syo-chan! There you are!” Natsuki exclaims, hoisting the smaller boy up and into his arms, “I’ve always loved you~” he coos, blissfully unaware, possibly uncaring, of the murderous aura Syo radiates as he does.

“Let. Me. Go. You idiot!” Syo wails, apparently having regained his energy. “I said let—Wait, Masato! Where are you going? At least take me with you! _Masato!_ ”

 

Setting the books down on the table in the main lobby, Masato sits down on the sofa with a sigh. That hadn’t really helped him be any more prepared for later.

Picking up the manga Otoya had recommended and making himself comfortable, Masato figures it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. He still had some time before his meeting with Tokiya, and it would be impractical to turn down any help he could get before then.

Feeling the tips of the pages between his fingers, Masato takes a deep breath and begins to read.

 

Tokiya is early, as expected.

It’s a quality Masato appreciates, given _some_ other member’s attitude toward punctuality. In this case however, Masato finds it just a tad bit bothersome. “You’re early,” he says, hopefully not sounding too disappointed by Tokiya coming earlier than he does. So much for waiting patiently so he can tell an embarrassed I’m-sorry-I’m-late Tokiya that, no, he just got here too, you look really nice by the way. Masato sighs inwardly; it seems like Otoya’s manga was a bust, too.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tokiya says, soft, subdued, signaling to Masato that this is it, this is really happening. “I was just so excited about our date. Are you mad?” Tokiya looks pleadingly at him through long lashes. Masato can’t quite find it in himself to breathe.

“N-No,” he replies, after only the slightest bit of delay. “I-I was also very excited. About our date.”

“That’s good then,” Tokiya says, taking Masato’s hand in his. “Shall we go?”

“Y-Yes,” Masato says, feeling the way Tokiya’s palm fits against his. A part of him wants to pull away, the contact already too much, too soon, Otoya’s manga never said anything about handling internal turmoil. Masato feels his hands start to shake, his resolve crumbling.

“Are you alright, dear?” Tokiya asks, tilting his head.

“I’m fine,” Masato blurts out quickly, feeling like he’s been shot through heart. Tokiya is much too good at this for his own good. “Just fine,” he says again, willing his nerves to calm, his hands to steady. If Tokiya can do this, then so can he. “Darling.”

At that, Tokiya smiles, “Good,” and laces their fingers together.

 

This is the first time, Masato notes, that he’s spent this much time with Tokiya, outside of work, outside of rehearsals. This is also the first time, he comes to realize, that someone’s held his hand this intimately, outside of his relatives in his youth, outside of dancing with daughters of influential families during balls and galas. This is also the first time, he comes to accept, that he’s ever really been on a date with someone. Tokiya seems to have taken a lot of firsts from him, in that respect. Masato feels scandalized, somewhat, but is otherwise surprised to find he doesn’t quite mind.

Beside him, Tokiya smiles, really smiles, and Masato finds that he really doesn’t mind, doesn’t really mind at all.

 

“What about that one?” Tokiya asks, pointing to a poster of a man and a woman, their forlorn faces as they embrace each other promising a tale of heartbreaking romance. From what Masato can gather, its quality is dubious at best, but he supposes it’s not the movie that’s important, but the time he and Tokiya spend during then.

“All right,” he says, lining up to buy tickets. “Is there anywhere in particular you would like to sit?”

“Hmm,” Tokiya pauses for a moment before answering, “Anywhere is good, as long as I get to sit beside you.”

Masato pretends not to hear that, not that it stops his ears from going red anyway.

 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you,” Masato considers asking, watching as Tokiya shamelessly takes a sip from _his_ bottle of green tea, their fingers brushing as Tokiya pulls the drink closer to him.

“Did you say something, dear?” Tokiya asks sweetly, taking another lingering sip.

“No, it’s nothing,” Masato replies, throat suddenly dry. The way Tokiya licks his lips after tells Masato all he needs to know.

 

“Why are we watching this again,” Masato finds himself muttering, halfway through the protagonists’ latest misunderstanding, punctuated by gross sobs and unbearable screaming. Somehow, the film is of even lesser quality than Masato initially gave it credit for. It’s a wonder the theater is as packed as it is; do people honestly have nothing better to spend their hard-earned cash and time on?

Instead of receiving a response however, Masato is only met with silence, disturbed by the occasional sniffle courtesy of their easily-affected fellow moviegoers.

“Ichinose?” Masato tries again, turning to see Tokiya sleeping away peacefully, head inches from resting on his shoulder. Masato gulps, suddenly keenly aware of the way Tokiya’s breath lands against the side of his arm, the way his chest rises and falls, the way his eyelashes flutter ever so slightly. “Ichinose,” Masato says again, more to himself than anything, debating whether or not to wake him up. That would be rude, wouldn’t it? But then again, Tokiya might get mad knowing he let him sleep through the movie, no matter how dreadful it is.

Tentatively, Masato moves his hand to nudge at Tokiya’s arm, stopping mere millimeters away once Tokiya’s head finally makes its way to land on his shoulder.

“I-Ichinose,” Masato says, desperately, as Tokiya’s hair starts to tickle at his nape. “Th-This is,” quite unacceptable, he tries to say, but the words are caught by his frantic heart leaping to his throat.

Raising his shaking hand, he tries again, stopping short when an exasperated voice sighs behind him, “Oh my _god_ , man, are you gonna make a move or what? It’s depressing watching you sitting around pussyfooting like that. God.”

Masato recoils his hand into his lap so quickly it almost hurts.

 

“I’m sorry,” is all Masato can say, in the end. Even with all that Tokiya had done for him, he still wasn’t able to do much on his own other than letting his hand hover around awkwardly.

“Don’t say sorry yet,” Tokiya says, back to business as usual. Masato can’t help but feel that Tokiya is disappointed in him, somewhat. It stings, a little. “Apologizing would simply mean admitting defeat. You don’t plan on giving up _that_ easily, do you?”

“I—” Masato starts, recognizing that determined look in Tokiya’s eyes again. “Of course not.”

“As I thought,” Tokiya says, smiling. “Same time tomorrow, then?”

Masato can’t help but smile back, finding it in himself to finally touch Tokiya’s hand with his, this time. “I look forward to it.” 


End file.
